Kinky drinks (EN)
by Bebec
Summary: Having sex with Lucifer in the department bathroom wasn't something Chloe planned thirty minutes ago... Explicit content One-shot, promptfic. Deckerstar (around S3-S4).


**Authors' notes:**

_This is what happens when you look without any ulterior motives on Tumblr, on 'Lucifer prompts'. What else can I say for my defense... _

_I couldn't help it?_

_Rating M - what you're about to read includes explicit sexual scene. You've been warned._

* * *

**KINKY DRINKS**

* * *

Having sex with Lucifer in the department bathroom wasn't something Chloe planned thirty minutes ago...

And yet here she is; leaning, almost sitting, against one of the sinks aligned along the wall, under this mirror that claims the warmth of her body, the tremulous contours of her shoulder for itself. Here she is grabbing the edges of the sink, quivering on the ceramic, against the cold glass of her reflection, that of her arched back, of the frame of her bra.

Here she is quenching the Devil's thirst.

A swip makes her fingers twitch.

_Oh, God._

Lucifer's fingers stop their actions, stretch a little, far from his thirst, from hers.

"Language, Detective."

Did she speak out loud?

She looks impatiently at him, she knows he holds her in the hollow of his hand; of his fingers, so to speak. So to speak quite 'literally'. But it's neither his hand nor his fingers that matters to her. She matters about something higher, more smiley and teasing than it should be.

"Shut up," she says.

Her hips slide, move towards him, towards that smile, his lips. Reddened, hardworking.

He arches an eyebrow, his smirk widening, more than she can tolerate. "What did I just tell you, hm?"

"Lucifer..."

"Ooh, better; much better!" he approves, his nose grazing her lonely clit.

He breathes in, just breathes in a little bit of air, a little bit of her. And of him, of his power over her. For thirty minutes. Thirty... minutes.

Chloe breathes out.

Thirty minutes.

She just wanted to take a break before questioning a suspect. And have some coffee, som—

_"Mmmhhh…" _she keeps breathing out, the mirror holds up the back of her skull, it swings between the glass and the tiled wall.

Both cold, both uncomfortable.

How did she end up here, not giving a damn about these details?

How did he get to convince her to do this here?

It's not like it was her first time at the precinct, is it? Of course not, there has been Marcus before him, Daniel too. God... she's depicting someone she isn't, she didn't think to be like this. The kind of woman that nothing bothered, who loves taking risks, loving possibilities, the dangerous probability of being caught in action and, maybe, envied.

The kind of Maze, of many other women she's not.

It's the kind of things she wouldn't do, it's the kind of things Lucifer would do. But he didn't force her hand, harass her or challenge her. He's only here for her, to satisfy her desires, to assist her in her work.

So... how the hell did she end up moaning against a mirror, clinging forcefully to a sink?

"You know, one more sound and I'd lap everything you might say," he teases her, his breath is short, running along the inside of her thigh.

She looks at him again, out of breath too, but not enough. It's still not enough.

"You know… o-one more sound and I'd shoot you," she replies.

Lucifer laughs; a teasing gust on her skin and watering place where she can't stand the idea of not feeling his lips anymore. He stares at her, doesn't let go of her gaze as he touches her, moves his mouth away from what she really wants, moving it on this piece of skin, her tight gap. It's gentle, far from the brazier that burned them before.

She is burning, though.

His gaze burns all her thoughts, her remarks, her teasing that make all the beauty of their partnership, their couple, their life together. It's a fire, a flame, a spark, a blaze, a wildfire….

Fire.

Burning bush.

Devil's fire.

"Let's try to avoid that, shall we?"

The back of her skull finds its way back to the mirror which finds back the contours of her body. Chloe no longer knows if she should worry about where, about how much time is passing, about how much has passed between the time she got up from her chair and now. Someone will eventually notice she's gone from her desk, right? As Lucifer is.

Right.

"Lucif—"

She moans, bits her lower lip, drives her hand into his hair, she clings to him more than she clings to the ceramic sink. She barely feels it under her thigh; its biting cold, how it makes her slip, how it sounds under her messy movements while the Devil is messing with her rosebud.

It's natural.

Chloe burns.

She's burning, burning, burning, burning...

"L-Luc…" she gasps.

She could tear his hair out of his skull, she could hurt him - proportional pain for the pleasure, the fire he happily burns her with. Lucifer gives, gives, gives and gives again; devilish lewd noble act. He's moving forward her, backward, he keeps her under his control; he lets her breathe in when he considers it useful, lets her breathe out when his tongue briefly moves away from this burning part of her.

Briefly.

She's still burning.

Burning.

Lucifer groans appreciatively, it arouses the already almost unbearable heat in her belly. Heat, pressure, loosening, frenzy... everything is truth, lies before the Devil, for his oral demand, demanding her pleasure for his own, theirs. She hasn't even touched him yet, she only touches and pulls his hair, she only strokes the top of his temples, the building tension digging his skin there - at the level of his forehead. That's something.

Something she did, she's giving him in return.

Chloe is like one with the mirror; it's hard to tell, to care about real limits, where her skin stops, where the steamy glass begins. Where her fire stops, where begins the cold rigid sink from which she can't help but slide, where Lucifer's strong, inflexible hands hold her.

His hands.

In the hollow of his hand.

"Go—" she almost cries.

His hands squeeze, dig into her flesh as a warning. His tongue digs deep within her, looks after her redemption for this 'almost' blasphemy, this 'almost', almost, almost, almost—

_"__—ood Devi!" _

She's close to beg now.

No more mirrors, no more sinks. Chloe leans forward, leaning towards this 'almost' she wants 'whole'. This 'fire' she wants 'brazier'. Lucifer comes to her, he's already in her; such a small part of him, such a small thing. Something so small that brought her here, that made her lean forward like this, like this kind of woman, this kind of risky burning.

Burning, burning, burning….

Lucifer rummages through her, finds and conquers. He burns, consumes, consecrates this territory for his reign alone.

Burn, burn, burn.

Almost.

Almost.

Whole.

**-xXx-**

* * *

Chloe is coming back to more reasonable temperatures.

Time has passed.

It keeps passing, burning under the tender graze of his lips against hers which he doesn't seem ready to leave yet. He drinks every drop of her. Every watery exultation that extinguishes this fire, Lucifer drinks it with great care, a thousand-year-old one.

The Devil lives off flames.

Burning water.

Off holy water.

More time passes until he's finally satisfied with what she gives to him, what she hasn't given to anyone else. True, Chloe isn't this kind of woman, but she's not a prig either. This experience is nevertheless new, first-of-its-kind. She can't compare it to the last and only two other times.

Where Daniel was hasty, where Marcus was brutal; Lucifer is... Lucifer.

He's hasty. He's brutal.

But he is by being himself. Lucifer; hasty, brutal. Like no other.

He breathes in. She shivers, breathes out. Lucifer's hands move along her thighs, under her knees. He gently spreads her legs away from his shoulders, she has moved them without really noticing. Lucifer slowly leads her left leg to the ground, her foot hits her clothes thrown there, pushes her jeans to the side; from an inches or two. He moves the right one, without taking his eyes off her.

Not letting go of his grin.

"I'd never have thought that some extemporaneous laundry would arouse you like this," he says, rubbing his chest mechanically.

Chloe blinks several times, confused. She stares Lucifer for a while, this dark stain on his unbuttoned shirt, right where she can see his lower chest. She breathes in this fleeting smell of coffee mixed with her smell, Lucifer's.

Coffee.

_Coffee. _

She just wanted to get some coffee and—

"Well... I'd never have thought that spilled coffee on your shirt would suit you like this."

He stops rubbing his precious ruined shirt, which roasted with their both scents, and looks at her. His lips keep this red, watery fire from their lovemaking. He still tastes her. She can see this red mark left by the coffee on his skin, passing through his clothes; a slight burn that aroused another one.

_"Everything _suits me flawlessly, Detective."

"Right. Let's try some tea, shall we?"

Eyebrow arched once more, Lucifer stands up on his legs. As much as the coffee stain may annoyed him, the dust and dirt scattered in the bathroom don't, it seems so. He leans on the edges of the sink, inviting her once again to 'extemporize'.

"As I said... 'everything' suits me flawlessly, dear. Although I doubt we can find anything but this awful roasted concoction of yours, not in this cesspool of good flavors you called 'precinct' at least."

"You'd be surprised," her lips are so close to his.

Red, burning. Those few embers she wants to revive again.

And that's when they both hear Ella's cheerful voice echoing behind the door. _"Cappuccino, guys - who's in?"_

Chloe laughs, she can't stop laughing. Lucifer joins her, joining their laughing lips and the fire aroused by just a coffee stain. Although anything else might just as well do the trick.

The Devil will wear it like no other.

Of course, he will.

* * *

**Authors' notes:**

What? X)

I couldn't help it, I told you!


End file.
